


is it too soon to do this yet?

by Agent25



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Inspired by Friends (TV), Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), sharon carter week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 11:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16304075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent25/pseuds/Agent25
Summary: “Steve!” Sharon loudly greets into the phone. “Hi, it’s Sharon. I just wanted you to know…to know that I’m not waiting for you! Sure, I haven’t kissed anyone, or had sex in nearly six months. Which is saying a lot, because I’m a catch. A catch!”Sharon gives Maria a thumb’s up as she continues blabbering into the phone. “So, see, I am going to go out there and have sex. I’m going to have all of the sex. Like, so much sex. So, obviously, I am over you, Steve Rogers. I am overyou.And that, my friend, is what they callclosure.”





	is it too soon to do this yet?

Sharon Carter has a good life.

Sure, she doesn’t have her job at the CIA anymore. Or her swanky apartment in the heart of Berlin that had overlooked the tranquil waters of the Spree. Sure, she’s considered an international fugitive after aiding and abetting Captain America and his ragtag crew of misfits. And she can’t return home to the States unless she wants to be arrested on the spot and put in a five by five cell for the rest of her life.

Oh. And she can’t call her family or friends for fear of tapped lines and prying ears trying to suss out of her location.  

Not easy to forget that.

So, yeah, besides all of _that_ …she has a pretty good life.

In some ways she’s exactly back where she started: at SHIELD. Or at least whatever grassroots version of SHIELD that the previously dead Fury and his second-in-command Maria Hill have cooked up.

And hadn’t that been an experience? Waking up one morning to the smell of coffee permeating through her new, cozy (fancy word for _freakin’ tiny_ ) apartment. She had obviously been on guard (she wasn’t a spy for nothing), grabbing the pistol she kept hidden beneath her pillow (cliché yet effective), and stealthily snuck into her kitchen only to be assaulted by the image of a smug Fury, eyepatch and all, sitting at her rickety little table drinking a cup of joe like they did that every Thursday morning.

Hint: in all the years she had known Nick Fury, they never once got coffee.

She had gaped like a fish stuck on land, ugly cried like a blubbering whale, yelled bloody murder in her most shrillest tone, and then poked him viciously in the stomach to ensure he wasn’t a stress related hallucination. He had taken it all in his usual stoic manner, grunting and answering all her questions with other maddening questions before directing her to sit and then offered her a new job.

So here she was, living in a semi-shitty apartment that had faulty plumping and paper thin walls on the outskirts of Vitebsk. It wasn’t an easy city to live in, seeing as her Belarusian was abysmal, but she got by with a job at a neighboring café, wiping tables and taking orders with a vacuous smile. She doesn’t have much of a social life, other than playing cards with good ol’ Ms. Kuzmich on the fourth floor. The elderly woman is entirely deaf in her right ear and cheats something fierce. Sharon has lost many a ruble to the woman’s wily hands. But at least the card shark always sends her off with a freshly baked Karavai for her troubles. 

She’s dyed her hair, burying her blonde locks beneath a rich, dark auburn. It’s just going-on-the-run 101: drastically change your look. Everyone and their mother knew that. So goodbye was her long, luscious hair. She traded it in for a spunky bob with erratic waves and side bangs that always, always fell across her eyes, forcing her to blow them away with a breathy huff.

And sometimes…sometimes she went on missions. Nitty gritty stuff, getting her hands dirty, just like the good old days back when SHIELD had meant something good in this increasingly strange world. She’d find herself in safe houses scattered across the globe, Fury’s and Maria’s voices in her comm as she did her best to ensure that the world kept spinning.

Someone had to, now that the Avengers were essentially kaput. Order had to be maintained somehow, because, in Fury’s words, something was coming. Something was _always_ coming. She didn’t know what their next world ending threat would be, what could top aliens or rampaging robots? But it was out there all the same.

And when it came, they would all need to be ready.

Sharon Carter has a good life, all things considered. She’s not complaining.

It’s not like she’s missing anything…or anyone. Nope. Not at all.

She’s an independent woman. Completely self-sufficient. She doesn’t need anyone or anything.

At least, that’s what she tells herself, loudly and often. No, really, she’ll stand in front of her cracked bathroom mirror chanting it to herself over and over, like some kind of 80s power ballad.

She doesn’t need anyone. But that doesn’t stop the wanting.

 

+++

 

See, here’s the thing.

Steve Rogers kissed her.

He _kissed_ her.

He had pressed his slightly chapped lips against hers with a purpose. It had been a bit uncertain and a little awkward because the angle was off and their noses knocked against each other. It hadn’t been a very long kiss, maybe 30 seconds tops. There had been no fireworks or blinding stars behind her eyelids. Her world hadn’t been rocked. She had still been standing firmly on the ground when he pulled away, not floating away into the clouds above. All in all, it wasn’t a remarkable kiss, except…

Except it had breathed life in her when all she felt was despair after losing her favorite person. It had tasted of countless possibilities; whispered conversations into flushed skin in the dark hours of night, bumping hips in the kitchen as pots and pans clattered around noisily as the two ineptly tried to cook, moonlight strolls as fingertips brushed against one another, growing bolder and bolder until they were backing themselves into a deserted alleyway, breathless laughter blowing away into the wind.

That singular kiss hadn’t been much to write home about, but all the kisses it promised in the future had had her toes curling as she watched him drive away in that ridiculous blue bug.

And just like that, he had disappeared.

And she got it. He had had bigger fish to fry, believing a horde of feral Winter Soldiers were about to be unleashed on the unsuspecting world. Then the disaster at that airport in Leipzig happened. And then that even bigger mess in Siberia. Her knowledge of what had went down had come from secondhand sources, but she knew it had been bad.

Steve’s friends, the fuckin’ Avengers, had gotten themselves locked up in a secret prison in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Then they had been broken out. It didn’t take a genius to guess who had done it.

No one had seen them since.

It took nearly a month after the daring prison break for him to text her. Three sentences. That’s all she got.

_Hey, neighbor. We’re all safe on our end. Hope you are too._

What the hell was she supposed to do with that? Ever since then his texts had been rare and sporadic and never more than a string of words that left much to be desired as she futilely tried to read between the lines of everything he wasn’t saying. She knows more about him because of Sam and Natasha than anything he’s sent her way.

And that’s been their relationship for the last six months. She hadn’t seen him since that day beneath the underpass when she handed him back his shield.

It’s not like she was expecting…sweeping declarations, or glass slippers or happily ever after’s or anything ludicrously crazy like that. She’s not a child, she knows how the real world works. Happiness is fleeting and more of an abstract idea for people like her.

But…

But he kissed her like he wanted her, his fingers clutching her hips as he pressed himself against her, breathing her air. And it had to mean something.

It just had to.

And she didn’t do it for him, exactly. Meaning, she hadn’t expected anything from him when she passed him intel on Barnes’ location in Bucharest or when she smuggled out his and Sam’s gear.

She did it because it was the _right thing_ to do. Because, hello, arresting someone without due process and extraditing them to a foreign country where they would absolutely be killed by Wakanda’s newest king without so much as a trial violated the Geneva Convention. And Sharon didn’t sign up for that bullshit.

She did it because she believed in his cause, believed that the Sokovia Accords were flawed and ultimately empty. Because the world needed men like Steve Rogers fighting for it. Looking back, knowing all the things she would lose for helping him, she would do it all again without batting an eye.

Because Peggy Carter didn’t raise no foolhardy grand-nieces.

And Sharon’s never been able to stand such blatant injustice.

And maybe…maybe she had done it for him, but only just a little. Because she could still remember the two years she spent as his neighbor in DC, being Nurse Kate who always went out of her way to smile at him in the hallways and joke about how terrible the Nationals were doing because Steve Rogers was a baseball fan and he had no team to root for once the Dodgers got out of Brooklyn. Because she still remembered how achingly lonely he looked as he shuffled by; head down and shoulders slouched as he tried to make himself look small so no one would notice him.

She always noticed him, and not just because it had been her job. Steve Rogers had a way of getting under people’s skin, he had definitely gotten under hers.

And then he kissed her, making him a near constant thought in the back of her mind. She’d wonder about him in the middle of the day as she bused tables, towel slung over her shoulder and apron strung tightly around her waist. She’d think about him during the quiet of night as the hours ticked by.

_Where was he? What was he doing? Was he safe? Was he thinking about her?_

It was a pathetic way to live, but here she was. She had no pride left. But it was fine, completely fine.

Who cares that Steve Rogers had invaded her thoughts. It’s not like she needed him, or that she was waiting for him.

Sharon Carter didn’t wait for anyone.

 

+++

 

“I’m waiting for him, aren’t I?” Sharon drunkenly muses as she lays spread eagle across her creaky wooden floors. She’s staring despondently at her popcorn ceiling, counting every water stain she comes across. They are way too many for her comfort. Lying next to her is a nearly empty bottle of vodka and occupying herself on Sharon’s couch is a very unamused Maria Hill. The brunette is stretched out and watching Sharon with a very judgmental expression on her nonplussed face.

“Well, that depends,” Maria says after a moment, clearly wanting no part of this conversation. Sadly for her, Sharon’s been waxing poetic about Steve’s eyes, and Steve’s hair, and Steve’s shoulders for the last two hours. It’s always _Steve looks at you and you can just see his entire soul, you know?_ And _Steve’s such a good man and good men are such a turn on. They’re so rare, finding one is like getting your hands on the Holy Grail._

Maria really should have cut her off the alcohol hours ago.

Sharon’s head tilts toward her friend as she stares up at her with her brown eyes blown wide.

“Depends on what?” she slurs tiredly, fingers clutching at the vodka weakly.

“Have you had sex since your mind blowing first kiss?”

Sharon is quick to shake her head, “No.”

Maria peers at her seriously, “Have you kissed anyone else?”

Now Sharon looks insulted as she lays there, “Of course not!”

Maria sighs and takes a hefty swig of her own bottle. “Then, yeah, you’re waiting for Steve. You and half the female population and a good chunk of the male. Who knew him becoming a vigilante would make him even hotter?”

Sharon pouts adorably as her tongue pokes out for a moment, her eyebrows knitting together as her eyes roam throughout the room.

“Damn it,” she sullenly moans, head rolling back and forth. Maria nods in agreement. Damn it, indeed.

Finally, after she’s gotten sick of watching Sharon act like a toddler too tired to realize it needs a nap, she offers up some sage advice.

“I have some sage advice for you,” she announces to the room, causing Sharon to blink herself out of her dazed stupor. “Maybe what you need is to move on.”

Sharon stares at her like she’s grown an extra head. Which is just rude, all things considered.

“How the hell am I supposed to do that, oh sage one?” Sharon sarcastically asks with a sweep of her arms before letting them flop uselessly to the floor. They feel like weights holding her down.

Maria carelessly shrugs as she leans back into the comfy pillow propping up her back. She rubs her chin absentmindedly as she thinks through the problem analytically. “What do normal people do when a relationship goes south? Get closure?”

“Closure!” Sharon squeals happily as she wiggles in place, kicking her legs out like an excited puppy that gets to go on a walk. “I love that word. Closure-closure-closure-closure-“

“Stop saying closure,” Maria orders and watches with a frown as Sharon continues mouthing the word over and over silently to herself. When she’s finally done she turns to Maria questioningly.

“But how do I get closure on something that never was really anything other than just an idea? A beautiful idea, that seemed to exist briefly for one moment in time but was then ruthlessly stamped out before it could sprout to life.”

Maria stares, and then stares some more. God, she needs more alcohol to deal with all of this. She was a spy for crying out loud, not a therapist. And Sharon, well, there was just a lot to unpack there.

“Just tell yourself, ‘I am over you, Steve Rogers,’” she pragmatically offers up, the closest she’ll ever be to helpful when it comes to matters of the heart. Maria Hill didn’t do love. Love was for suckers.

Case in point: Sharon.

Sharon licks her lips, trying to force herself to form the words needed. “I a-am over you, S-Steve Rogers,” she weakly gets out, testing the waters as the words fall out of her like pebbles dropping into smooth waters, disrupting everything near it.

Maria nods approvingly. “Yeah, just keep—“

“I am over you, Steve Rogers,” Sharon declares, this time with building confidence.

“I am over you, _Steve Rogers.”_ There’s an intoxicating power in saying the words over and over again, like a mantra thrumming through her blood. Like the more she says it, the more it will become a capital T truth and therefore absolve her of all feelings she once held for a certain blond superhero.

“I am over _you,_ Steve Rogers!”

“Yes,” Maria murmurs slowly, as if she were talking to an especially stupid child, “You’re over Steve Rogers. I get it. Please stop repeating it like a broken record.”

But it’s too late, Sharon’s a woman on a mission. With some struggling, she rolls herself onto her stomach and then gets on her hands and knees, movements wobbly and uncertain as she crawls forward to the coffee table where her phone rests.

She snaps up the burner phone, flipping it open and pressing down on speed dial three. It’s not enough that she’s convinced herself. Now she’ll convince Steve that she is, in fact, over him and his incredible body, and kind soul, and his bubble butt.

Whatever. She’s over it. She’ll be singing Shake It Off any minute now. Right after she rubs it in Steve’s perfectly symmetric face.

Maria stares, knowing she’s about to witness a train wreck of epic proportions. It’s her duty to try and stop this.

“Sharon, no—“

Sharon sloppily holds up a finger as the phone rings, and rings…and rings.

“Voicemail,” she whispers after a moment. Maria falls back onto the couch in relief.

“Thank God.”

Sharon hums to herself, “Just waiting for the beep…”

Maria’s eyes snap open. “Sharon, don’t—“

“Steve!” Sharon loudly greets into the phone. “Hi, it’s Sharon. I just wanted you to know…to know that I’m not waiting for you! Sure, I haven’t kissed anyone, or had sex in nearly six months. Which is saying a lot, because I’m a catch. A catch!”

Sharon gives Maria a thumb’s up as she continues blabbering into the phone. “So, see, I am going to go out there and have sex. I’m going to have all of the sex. Like, so much sex. So, obviously, I am over you, Steve Rogers. I am over _you._ And that, my friend, is what they call _closure.”_

Sharon hangs up the phone triumphantly, a grin curling across her face as she chucks the device aside. She sits there in silence for a few moments, just letting the glory wash over her like the waves of the sea. She’s an all-powerful goddess, reclaiming her divinity all over again.

She doesn’t need Steve Rogers.

She just closured all over him. She just closured like a badass bitch. Case _closed._

She turns to Maria and only has one thing to say, “Let’s do shots.”

 

+++

 

Sharon’s groaning when she wakes up the next morning to harsh sunlight streaming in through her bedroom window. She’s starfished across her bed, limbs in every direction and feet hanging off the sagging mattress with a blanket half-heartedly thrown over her and a pillow unconcernedly squished beneath her head. Clearly this was the work of Maria. Sharon should really be grateful that her friend had even gotten her to her bed and hadn’t just left her on the hard floors.

She frowns as she sluggishly wipes at the drool dripping down her chin. She can feel the headache already brewing in her forehead, pounding like a jackhammer against her temple.

Unfortunately for her, that’s not the only thing pounding.

Someone’s banging at her door. Now that she thinks about it, it was probably that sound which awakened her in the first place. She groans again, gurgling out something nonsensical as she rolls herself off her mattress. She groggily stands, wiping at her eyes as she wanders half-asleep through her apartment towards the front door.

She spares a thought to her appearance, hoping she doesn’t look like death warmed over. It seems whoever is on the other side of the door has impeccable hearing, because the moment her footsteps near the door, the knocking increases in both frequency and volume.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles out tiredly, “I’m coming!”

Her fingers wrap around the brass door knob and then she’s pulling it open. “What do you want?”

She stops cold when she sees who’s standing on the other side.

Steve.

Steve _freakin’_ Rogers is standing outside her door. He looks troubled. Well, at least she thinks he does. It’s hard to tell with the baseball cap and sunglasses. Which, someone really needs to tell him a disguise they do not make. He still looks like Captain America.

Except for the beard. The beard is new.

It’s thick and full as it runs up the length of his cheeks, covering his jaw entirely. She physically has to clench her fists to stop herself from reaching up and stroking the bristles. She wonders how they would feel against her skin.

This is the first time she’s seen him in six months and all she wants to do is fondle his beard.

It’s official. This is a shit-show.

“Steve,” she squeaks out throatily, voice still not wide awake after her night of hitting the bottle. “What are you doing here?”

Something had to have happened. Barnes is in danger. Hydra’s up to something nefarious. Fury is actually dead this time.

Something major had to happen for him to come to her now when he’s hardly spoken to her in half a year. She braces herself against the doorframe, body tensing as she waits in anticipation for whatever bad news he is here to deliver.

Then something happens that she never expected to see.

He fidgets. Steve Rogers, the world’s first Avenger, fidgets in place as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket and bites his plump bottom lip as he glances at her before his eyes flit away nervously.

“Can I, uh, come in?” he asks sheepishly, looking far too large to be standing out in the dingy hallway of Sharon’s crumbling apartment building.

She blinks in surprise before slowly nodding. She shuffles aside as he graciously slips past her into the shabby apartment. She closes her eyes as she feels his heat as he almost-nearly touches her as he glides by.

She shakes her head, muttering quietly, “Get yourself together, Sharon.”

When she turns, she finds that he’s taken off his hat and pocketed his sunglasses, his blue eyes roaming freely around the small space of her living room, taking everything in with an almost frantic intensity.

She doesn’t get why, there’s not much to look at. She’s hardly an interior designer and it would take a miracle worker to make this place shine.

It’s silent between them. And awkward. Silently awkward. It’s almost worse than when he had first learned she was a SHIELD agent. She’d take his righteous fury over this hesitation she could feel sweeping off of him in waves.

“So, uh,” she speaks softly, not wanting to scare him off when he looks as flighty as a baby deer. “What brings you here?”

His eyes widen in response as he kicks at invisible dirt on her floor. “Oh, I was in the neighborhood.”

Sharon raises a skeptical eyebrow as she crosses her arms over her chest. “Neighborhood? Really?”

“Well,” he wheedles, reaching up and rubbing his neck as he chances a look her way. “Not too far off. I was in Russia along with Sam and Nat. We were taking down a Hydra cell there. And I figured…that I would come and see you.”

“Huh,” Sharon murmurs, finding the pale pink nail polish on her fingers suddenly so fascinating as she stares down at them. She’s nearly picked off all of the flaking chips off her thumb as she and Steve continue standing there in suffocating silence.

Honestly, just let the floor open up and swallow her whole.

That would be the kind thing to do.

She’s just about to open her mouth and try and salvage this shipwreck when he beats her to it.

“You’re over me?”

Her head snaps up, eyes connecting with his as her mouth drops open.

“Excuse me?” Her head is ringing and a memory is slowly creeping back into her brain. Something she had done last night. She just can’t recall all the details…

Steve’s still looking at her, like she’s something foreign to him, like he can’t quite figure her out. His lips turn down in a frown as he repeats himself, “You’re over me.” This time he doesn’t say it like a question, his posture defeated as he gazes at her sadly.

And then it clicks like a key turning into its lock.

She remembers exactly what she did last night.

_I am over you, Steve Rogers._

“Oh God,” she whispers to herself, eyes slipping shut with mortification as the memory slams into her like a freight train.

This wasn’t happening. Nope. This definitely was not happening. Not to her. Hadn’t she suffered enough already?

“When where-“ Steve begins shakily before cutting himself off and valiantly trying again, “When were you… _under_ me?” A pretty pink blush blossoms across his pale cheeks and it might be the most beautiful thing Sharon had ever seen if she didn’t want to die.

“Oh my God,” she cries, hands reaching up to cover her face as she refuses to look at him and his sweetly earnest face and those blue eyes that pierce her soul as he gazes at her.

She is going to kill Maria.

She starts pacing, making sure to keep a wide berth of Steve as he continues standing in her apartment, his eyes tracking her every movement as she moved wildly in the limited space her apartment offered.

She looks at him every so often as she circles around like a deranged shark, hoping against hope that’s he just a figment of her imagination and not really standing there.

He’s there every time and doesn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon. She’s mumbling to herself, and she can’t make out what she’s saying until Steve interrupts her.

“Sharon, do you,” he stops himself, trying to collect himself and say whatever it is he needs to say. “Were you…” he trails off helplessly and Sharon knows exactly where this is going.

She can’t meet his eyes as she plays with a loose thread of her sweater, her fingers tangling into it as she shrugs off his unspoken question.

“I, uh, sort of… _havefeelingsforyou,_ ” she mumbles the last part quickly, getting it out in a single breath in the hopes that he won’t hear her. But alas, she’s dealing with inhuman hearing.

Steve looks knocked off his feet as he stares at her. “You’ve…had feelings for me?”

Suddenly Sharon’s angry. “Yeah, so what!” she explodes as she sends a fierce glare his way. “You kissed me first!”

That’s right. This is Steve’s fault. If he hadn’t kissed her and then vanished off the face of the Earth then they wouldn’t be in this situation.

“Did you,” Steve shifts from foot to foot as he looks at her. “Did you not want me to kiss you?”

Sharon rolls her eyes. What kind of question is that?

“Of course I wanted you to kiss me!” she growls, “I wanted you to keep kissing me, that’s the problem.”

Now Steve just looks confused as his eyebrows furrow together. “And what exactly is the problem?”

“You! You’re the problem!” she yells with a sweep of her arms. “You kiss me and then you just disappear. I have to watch on the news as you guys destroy an airport and then you went off the grid completely. For weeks I didn’t even know if you survived Siberia. Then you bust the others out of the Raft and weeks go by and all I get is a ‘hey, neighbor’ text?”

Steve bristles in place as he huffs out, “What’s wrong with that? It’s our thing. You know, like when I said it to you in the hallways of the Triskelion.”

She just stares uncomprehendingly at him. Their… _thing?!?_ Honestly, why did she like him again?

“What kind of thing is that, Steve?” she gets out through clenched teeth, the frustration clear in her voice. He shrugs and it only sets her off again. God, he was so infuriating.

“I don’t know,” he snaps with a stubborn twist of his lips, “I thought it was cute.”

Sharon throws her arms up in the air. “Okay, whatever. That still doesn’t excuse the fact that you’ve kept your fair amount of distance over the months. Hell, if it wasn’t for Sam and Natasha sending me texts, I’d have no idea what’s going on with you! Who does that?”

That keeps him quiet. Sharon’s eyes narrow as she realizes she’s struck a nerve. “Why haven’t you texted me?”

Now it’s Steve turn to pace as his long strides cover every inch of her dismal living room. He blows out a noisy breath, hand running agitatedly through his hair.

“How could I?” he finally asks her, his blue eyes imploring. “Sharon, I ruined your life.”

A chill runs up her spine as she gawks at him. Suddenly, she knows exactly where this conversation is going.

“You son of a bitch…” she whispers accusingly.

“You lost her job,” he begins heartbreakingly, “You gave up everything to help me.”

She’s shaking her head, trying to block out all the words he’s saying, but it’s all vain because they keep on coming through, surrounding her and mocking her all the same.

“You can’t go home again.”

“Shut up,” she murmurs quietly, but he only talks over her, his voice strained and hollow.

“You’re a fugitive just like I am.”

“You’re such an idiot!” she cries out, feeling the tell-tale wetness at the corners of her eyes. Damn Steve Rogers for making her feel things she didn’t want to feel.

“How could I do it, Sharon? How could I talk to you and pull you even deeper into the cesspool that is my life? I don’t want that for you.” His eyes are so very sad as they look at her and she wants to hate him, except she can’t.

“That’s not your decision to make!” she shrieks and her words reverberate through the space between them. “I did what I did because I believed it to be the right thing to do. You don’t get to take my decision and…and use it to make yourself a martyr for your own guilt!”

He swallows thickly, looking down at his scuffed boots. “I know.”

“And you don’t get to decide what’s best for me. You understand me?” She wants to go to him and shake him and make him see how absolutely stupid he’s been these last few months. How, because of him, they’ve wasted so much time. And time is precious when you live the lives they do. “You don’t get to decide that I don’t want you in my life. I can decide that for myself.”

Steve’s breath catches in his throat as he watches her, eyes blinking rapidly as her words hit him.

“Okay,” he promises in a hushed voice. Sharon stares long and hard at him, trying to decipher if he’s lying to her. But his shoulders are squared and his head is raised. He’s telling her the truth.

She nods once in approval. “Okay.”

It’s quiet then. Not like before where it felt like she couldn’t breathe. There’s a calmness to it, now that they are finally both on the same page. But still, the air around them crackles with anticipation for what’s next. They might understand each other now, but they’re still on the precipice of something greater, something _more,_ if both are brave enough to take the next step.

Steve’s lips quirk in a small grin as he looks at her in a new light, head tilting ever so slightly as he teases, “So, has it really been six months since you’ve kissed someone?”

His smile grows as he observes the flush spreading rapidly across her cheeks as she avoids his gaze. Still, when his chest rumbles pleasantly as he laughs, she can’t find it in herself to stop the grin the stretches across her face.

“Have you kissed anyone?” she asks, playing along with his game. Steve keeps his eyes locked on hers as he shakes his head once.

“I’ve been waiting for the right person. I have a bit of a type, you see.”

Sharon’s eyebrow goes up, “Oh, really?”

“Yep,” Steve pops the ‘p’ as he places his hands on his hips. “I like them brave, and strong, and loyal. Blonde hair, brown eyes and legs that go on for miles. Oh, yeah, and I love it when they leave the most adorable drunken voicemails on my phone.”

Why does she like this asshole again? Oh, yeah, she remembers why. Her eyes are already rolling as she stalks towards him.

“Shut up.”

And before he can come up with a witty response, her hand is sliding up his neck, fingers tangling into the silken hairs at the nape of his neck. Then she’s tugging him down so his lips slant against hers.

This time the angle’s perfect and no noses bash against each other. There’s still no fireworks or stars, but there’s heat spreading deliciously across her body and she could be floating as she clings to him. A moan escapes her as he wraps his arms around her, his fingers slipping beneath her sweater as he clutches her hips tight enough to leave marks.

His palms are so large and warm as they run up and down her back, alighting sparks of interest with every caress. He touches her everywhere, like he can’t get enough of her skin now that he has permission to explore and chart new territory.

She marvels at how sturdy and strong he is against her. He takes her weight fully as she presses up against him, leaving no space between them. From head to toe they are connected, she can feel his heartbeat against hers, feel his chest constrict with every breath he takes. She just wants to get lost in him, until nothing remains but them right here, in this moment.

Finally, when oxygen becomes a necessity even for his super-soldier lungs, they pull back and look at each other. They’re equally wrecked with flushed cheeks, swollen lips and dilated eyes.

Steve’s looking at her in wonder as he keeps her securely in his arms, his eyes tracing over every curve and bend of her face.

“So,” he breathes out as his lips turn up into a playful smile. “About the other part of your message.”

Sharon blinks, a bemused expression crossing her face.

“About all that sex you wanted to have…”

She groans in embarrassment as her head drops to his shoulder with a thump. She punches him when she feels him shake with silent laughter. Of course, against a super-soldier, her punch does little harm as he continues laughing joyously, his palm soothingly running up her spine.

“I just wanted to let you know,” he whispers into her ear, feeling her shiver. “That I am more than willing to volunteer for such an endeavor.”

She pulls her head back so she can look him in the eye. It doesn’t take much for her gaze to be refocused to his mouth as she stares greedily at him.

“Yeah?” she asks sweetly, biting her bottom lip alluringly. His eyes narrow as he watches her teeth drag over her bottom lip.

“There is one thing I’ve always wanted to see if I was into.”

She watches as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down as he swallows thickly.

“And what would that be?” he asks her breathlessly, his body tightly wound like a coil waiting to spring. She grins predatorily as she reaches a hand up, cupping his jaw and feeling the bristles of his stubble against the skin of her palm.

“Beard burn.”

Next thing she knows, she’s off the ground, legs wrapped around his trim waist as he’s ushering them quickly down the hallway towards her bedroom, her laughter bouncing off the walls as she holds onto him.

She was definitely not over Steve Rogers, but it was looking like she’d definitely be spending the day _under_ him.

And she was absolutely fine with that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Created for Sharon Carter Week, Day Four: Romantic Relationships. I am on vacation this week, so I am submitting this today instead of waiting for 10/16. 
> 
> The inspiration for this fic comes from the Friends episode The One Where Ross Finds Out. 
> 
> For all Fireworks fans, I am working on the newest chapter! It'll be up sometime after I get back from vacation. Thank you for all the unending support, you guys are incredible! 
> 
> Please review! I love hearing from you :)


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